Helga's Rehab Side
by MollyMittens
Summary: Helga's in rehab and now the beloved couple have to learn how to deal with that.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. N

I sat outside the doctor's office feeling like a teenager again. There was something about the chairs, or how the room looked like it had drowned in beige that reminded me going to Dr. Bliss's office, though I don't know why. Her waiting room was far fancier, and much better to be in.

When I was going to see her I knew it was because she wanted to know about me and who I was. I got to open up my head and spill out my deepest self with no regret of the contents. Here I am being forced to self examine my actions and take the vary things I no longer wanted to think about, and think about them.

"You may come in now Helga," said a pudgy woman. She had blond hair, a thick build, and glasses to match her deep maroon suit. Even though she only said six words to me I already know I'm going to hate to her. But I get up and follow her anyway. I have no other choice.

When I get inside her tiny room I see that it is stacked with little knick-knacks and other small items. They punctuated the whole place, giving it a crowded feeling. But it also reminded me of Arnold. When he was going through grad-school he had shown me pictures of Freud's office and it looked just like this, though it had that classic long couch instead of a dull colored desk and a folding chair.

"My name is Dr. Nutan," She puts out her hand for me to shake, but I leave her hanging. Coughing lightly, she finally gives up on the forced greeting and says, "You may sit now."

"Gee, thanks," I said dryly. I pulled out a cigarette and my lighter.

"Oh, no. Please don't smoke that. It's not allowed in here. In fact, I'm not sure how you kept the lighter. I'll have to take that now."

"Are you fucking serous?" I asked, the cancer stick nearly falling out of my mouth in shock. With a huge groaning sigh I handed over the contraband items and folded my arms under my chest. Things were great, not.

"So why don't you tell me what brought you here." She asked, her smile wider then her hips. I looked at the overly pleased woman and wondered what she had to be so happy about. She spends her days doing nothing but talk endlessly to druggies and lowlifes who, most likely, don't give a shit about her. So I don't answer. "I'm sorry about the smoking thing." She adds, "If it were up to me I'd allow it. I find that most patients need to do something with their hands and as long as the smoke blows out of my way, I really don't mind. But it's rehab policy now." She resumes her smile.

I glare at her, letting my eyes do all the talking.

"Well," she says, looking at some manila folder, "It says here that you drank a whole bottle of rum and got into a physical dispute with a Dr. Phoebe Johanssen?" I shudder when she says that, remembering all to well what got me here. Thinking about it gave me an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could sense it growing as I sat there. It made me want to throw up.

"Sounds pretty bad," She adds again, still smiling. "Care to explain why you did that?"

"No. I'd care not to."

"Helga, if you don't start talking you'll just be sitting there. Is that what you want? To just sit there?" I glare at her again, wondering what she's getting at.

"What I want is not to be here. What I want is to be at home with my son, and my husband. What I want is to not share a room with some hobo woman and what I really REALLY want is a damn cigarette! But I don't get what I want, do I?"

"Oh, but you can Helga. You just have to work for it."

"Lovely." I say as I sink into my chair. I continue to say nothing for a while, getting the feeling that if I really shut up, she might end my session early and move on to the next wacko. She seems like someone who, though inexplicably happy, might not want to waste her time. So I sit, still as a statue.

"I can see your hands shaking. Are you nervous?" She asks. Dr. Nutan peers near to me, getting a little too close for my comfort. I back away some. She does the same, looking at the strange file again. Her brow furrows a second and for the first time in what seems like hours I can see her look something other then elated. Finally, a frown brakes free from her face.

"Oh…." She breathes, starting to appear sad. "Now I know where I remember your last name from. It rang a bell as soon as I saw it." She closes the file and places it on her desk before taking off her glasses to look at me. "You're Arnold Shortman's wife aren't you?"

"So, what's it to you?"

"I met him once at a psychology conference back in August. We had lunch together."

"Oh?"

"He said a lot good things about you. Mentioned you were expecting a baby boy. What did you name him?" I lower my head, not willing to look at the fat woman.

"Phil, after his grandfather."

"That's nice. I'm always fond of using family names myself." Her smiled emerged again, happy to break through the sullenness. She took out a pen and pad, jotting down something.

"Arnold also mentioned a few other things, like the political column you write, and…how you've been on the other side of this."

"Other side of what?" I barked.

"This situation. Your mother was an alcoholic too, wasn't she?" I growled under my breath, waiting for this woman to stop trotting out things she knows about me. Things…Arnold went ahead to tell. As if he somehow sensed that someone like Dr. Nutan would need this information today. Did he always assume I'd come here? Or was it something this woman said to squeeze the stuff out of him like a sponge? I refuse to be poked at like this. If I have to come here, fine. But I'm not about talk about my personal life. She won't get it anyway.

I hear the clock ticking away as we sit. It fills the room with its ominous noise, penetrating my ears harshly. I wish it would go away without me having to shoo it with my voice. I look at my hands and wish there was a cig in it. Shaking, I point and contract my fingers. I inspect them and think about the mounds of hand cream they need.

"Ya know," the shrink starts again, "Arnold really loves you. The way his face lit up when he mentioned you. It was like watching a young child on Christmas. I'd hate for him to not be able to see you again because you refuse to work. This is tough Helga, but this is what you have to do to get back home to Arnold and Phil. You have to start talking."

I move my head even lower, feeling like I might crack into a million pieces if she meets my eyes with hers. The way she speaks revolts me, reminds me of how my husbanded sounded on the day I was brought in. I could feel my stomach churning and bubbling. I don't know if I can make it through the last minutes without throwing up.

"I don't want to," I say, "I can't. It's too much!" I move my arms lower from under my chest so they now hug my sides. I press in on them, hoping to contain the eventual eruption that rising up inside of me. Dr. Nutan looks concerned. She puts her glasses back on and quickly looks me over.

"Helga," she asks fast, "Are you alright?" I attempt to hold it in for a while longer, but feel it barking at my mouth. I get up as fast as my legs can carry me and rush to her garbage to puke. It comes out in huge waves of mess, splattering everywhere. Some gets on the mini skirt of my shrink before she calls for help. /font

Arnold's Side

Edith Piaf's French song "No Regrets" is on the radio. The moon shines brightly through the skylight while the stars stud the deep blue ocean above. Helga and I were lying in bed, snuggling. I pull her close to me as I smile and stroke her soft cheeks with my index finger. My wife grins happily, giggling.

"So, is this as good as you had hoped?" she asks me.

"Is what good?"

"This! You and me! The whole…being married stuff." She puts her head behind her hands, heavily blushing. I dive after her angelic visage, rushing to get as close as humanly possible. Passionately I kiss my wife's forehead before moving to her supple pink lips.

"How's that for answer," I say.

"Oh, I think it's good. But it needs some revising…" She kisses my chest with as much love as I had, slowly moving up. I can't help but feel totally excited by her pecks and the way her gentle mouth sucks just enough of my skin to get me going. I moan a little before she breaks away from me, kissing my nose last.

"That tickles," I say.

"Really? Does it now?" Helga's smile grows wider as she flutters her hands around my midsection.

"Stop it Helga!" I laugh. But she doesn't. Instead she skids her grabbers around my body, letting her touch morph from tickles to strokes.

"Mmmmm."

"Oh, so you like?"

"You know that I like…" I breathe, barely able to contain myself. I want her. I want her to continue massage me. I want to her to kiss me. I want her to take her hot mouth and place it on my…

"Hey Arnold?"

"What?" I ask, suddenly confused.

"Hey Arnold!"

"What? What is it!" I looked at her, puzzled.

"Hey Arnold!"

I wake up. The alarm is blaring my name and I have to sit up to bang it silent. Elbows resting on my knees, I look at the skylight and realize that it's morning. Helga's side of the bed is scarcely empty. Sighing, I get up and go to my son who is now screaming his need for a diaper change and food.

"I know, I know…" I croak out. I gently lift him up and carry him to the changing table on the far side of the room. His morning prize smells almost evil, but I don't make a face. I just mindlessly clean Little Phil up and fasten on a new butt before going downstairs for his bottle.

"Morning Cowpoke. Looking tired there. Rough night with the herd?" My grandmother says. She flips me a stack of flapjacks on a plate and hands me coffee. I put little Phil in his high chair and went to get his breakfast bottle, sipping my java as I do.

"Need help there shortman?" my grandpa asks as he walks in. I nod no, and put the bottle in a small pot of water and wait for it boil. After a few moments I realize it's not getting any warmer. But before I can find out why, my Grandpa turns the burner on.

"I knew that!" I say, "Just…give a moment to wake up ok! I'm not even done with my coffee!" I push my grandfather aside and watch the tiny pot, willing it to warm up fast. When it doesn't I glare at it, trying to give the inanimate object my best angry look.

"Come on! Come on! I have a hungry kid here!" I yell, gesturing with my hand. Little Phil cries in retaliation of my harsh tone and I have to hug him tight in order to calm him down.

"Maybe you should take the day off Arnold, might do you some good."

"I can't!" I say. Grandpa turns off the burner and brings the warm bottle to my son. Gently he lifts his great grandson out of my hands and feeds him, smiling. I finish my coffee and grab another before digging into my stack of jacks and bacon sides. They taste utterly amazing. I focus on that while I listen to my grandpa go on and on about the rest I need. I know I need rest, the whole WORLD knows I need rest. But I haven't got any since…

"Look, I can sleep all I want this weekend but today I have people too many people to see. So I'm going in and that's that!" I throw my silverware down on my plate, letting it clank before taking the whole lot to the sink for washing. Glancing at my watch, I realize I am late.

"Crap, I gotta go!" I kiss Little Phil's head and walked off.


	2. Chapter 2

Helga

I'm lying on my bed, not sleeping. My crazy hobo roommate is looking at me, her eyes poised on something I can't figure out. I try to ignore her but can't.

"Do you believe in god?" she asks me, "For he can save you from your torment!"

"Oh, shut up and go bed. It's five in the freaking morning!" I roll over so I don't have to see her, still feeling her presence from across the room. I wish I were home with my Arnold and son. But I have three more weeks in this hellhole. Maybe more if they decide to be evil about it. I would not put it passed them. They seem to like making you cry.

The first day I got here was the worst. After being sent to the nurse who did nothing to help my queasiness, I was told to go to some room for group therapy. I shuddered at the thought. What could a group of whinny little bitches do to help me? None of them had the to live through my hell. None of them had to grow up feeling like a complete nothing next to her a sister. None of them had to be told and time and time and again that she could do no wrong while your existence was labeled nothing but wrong. I could never be seen as a golden child to them and no one, not even my hair-boy husband can understand how that makes me feel. He says he does. But I doubt he'd throw me in this loony bin if he really knew. If he really loved me.

"Hello everyone. Lets all get seated," a chubby woman says as I enter. I have never seen her before, but I can tell by her gigantic size she must own a lot of cats. Or that vibrator you always hear those sluts in the city talk about. I suddenly get a flash of images of the fat woman trying to get off around a bunch of kitties. I nearly puke at the thought before I realize our group leader is the second fat person I've seen today.

But what is really making me nauseated are all those slogans plastered around the room. You know the ones, "Let it begin with me," "Think," and of course, "Keep it simple!" I want to tare them all down. I want to rip them up into a million tiny ribbons so KNOW ONE has to see those insipid sayings ever again.

I dash past the circled chairs and go to one, staring at its block like letters in blue: THINK. About what, I wonder. What do I have to think about? What does that slogan have to do with me? Feeling my insides burn with a harsh mixture of anger and sickness I take my hand and grab hold of the corner, aching to tare the life right out of it!

"Hello? Over by the sign? Could you please take a seat? We've started." I groan, shooting mean looks at miss Fatty Cat.

"Come on now, we don't bite. Just take a seat and relax." Her smile reminds me of Mr. Simons and I find myself fighting the impulse to puke again. I lower my hands from the poster and walk slowly over to the group; feeling like sitting may be the best thing for me. Though, I don't see how.

My stomach settles a little as I glance at the others around me. They all look pathetic and needy, each staring at each other. I sigh, wishing I could grab a smoke or at least some coffee that's not decaf.

"So good of you to join us!" Pat beams. She claps her hands and I think about lunging to kill her. My heart races as I envision it, concocting the many ways I can snuff out her constant smiles and pleasing attitude. I dart my eyes around the room for my weapon, trying to find something that's quick to use, but hard to trace. I panic as I realize the only things I find usable are those stupid posters stapled to the walls.

"Miss, are you ok? You look flushed!"

"SHUT UP! I'm trying to think!"

"About what? You can tells us…"

"Fat chance!" I stand up, panning the room. I want to end this! I want run out and never come back! My hands quaver again, making me feel as though I'm about to die of a seizer. "FUCKING HANDS!" I scream, shaking them outward.

"Come on, you need to relax," she says as she comes towards me. She gently puts her hands on mine, clasping her fat hotdog fingers around my trembling limbs. Once she has them down, she slowly but surly messages them and soon I find myself calming. Before I can even ask how, I know that I am crying.

"I don't want to be here right now," I sob, looking at her, "What can I do to get out? I just…I want to get out of here…" Pat sighs some, letting go of my hands for my shoulders.

"We work it because you're worth it!" is all she says. And that's how it's been the whole week. No matter what I say or do, I end up blubbering like some baby, like my son who I'm aching to hold.

I turn back to my crazy roommate who is finally quite.

"Got any smokes?" I ask desperately.

"God does not allow his angles to partake in the smoke!" I groan and turn back to my wall. Three god-dammed weeks left. Joy.

Arnold and the pig

I am rushing to get to my office, driving as fast as the Hillwood streets would allow. The coffee is doing nothing to wake me up and my headache that started the moment I left my son is now raping my temples. It flashes and throbs, stabbing around my eyes and for second and I wonder if this is how a certain someone felt when she…

"Crap! What now!" I say as a cop car siren reverberates behind me. Seeing the flashing lights I slow the old Packard to a stop. As I turn off the aging engine I look at my watch and silently curse the pig that's holding me up. A few bacon jokes come to mind and I almost turn my head out to yell them. Instead I sit in the cold car and wait.

"License and registration please," he says to me. I jarringly flip open the glove the compartment with my left hand while I stare at the ticking seconds on my watch. The papers fall on the floor and I curse as I grab them.

"What was that son?" the pig asks me.

"Nothing! Here!" He takes my papers and glances at them, nodding at something.

"If I were you I'd adjust my tone Mr. Shortman."

"Sorry!" The cop hands me my papers and I can smell the distinct scent of donuts and coffee wafting off his gloved hands. I try not to laugh, finding it almost funny that the one oinker who stops me happens to conform to the cop stereotype. I wouldn't be surprised if he were Irish.

"Son, do you realize that you were going 45 in a 25 mile zone?"

"I'm late for work!"

"Unless your work is fighting fires," he says as he starts writing my ticket, "I suggest you cool off. Looks to me like you could use it." I groan, stamping my head on the steering wheel. The pig hands me my ticket and peers into the car.

"You all right?" he asks me. I take the thin paper from his hands and crumple the middle of it on my palm. Then, sensing he might ticket me for that, I take the bible thin bill and flatten it out on my knee before placing it in the glove compartment.

Suddenly, Edith's song from my dream plays and I find myself near tears. The moment flushes into my sight and I can almost feel her soft skin on me, her decadent kisses that envelope me, and the sweet smell of peach that rises off her as we move mid coital. The song gets louder and I almost speed off into the morning, wishing I were a million miles away from anything that reminds me of her. Sniffling, I wipe away my tears and hope the oversized bacon bit doesn't see me cry.

"Gotta take this, give me sec." The song stops and I realize it was the ring tone of the pigs cell. I sigh, happy the tune is gone from my ears.

"Sorry about that," he says as he turns to me again, "Phones are amazing aren't they? I saw Inception last week on DVD. Crazy movie, I didn't get it all. But I loved the music. Got my son to show me how to download the ringer." He chuckles a little. "Back in my day phones just rang. Ya know, a simple ring-ring would do. But now we have to have all these new tones and tunes," he smiles at me, "Look kid, just relax all right?" The cop gives me a polite wave and strolls off, leavening me with the one haunting memory that won't go away.


	3. Chapter 3

I am in my room with the lights off, my head pounding for some caffeine. No matter what I do or say, these people won't give me regular, claming I should get used not having a chemical jolt each morning. What a laugh. They pump me full of anti-depressants and yet one cup of normal coffee seems like murder to them.

Sometimes, when I am grabbing whatever is left from the slim pickings in the cafeteria, I find myself wanting to take the decaf pots and throwing them. I can feel the urge tingling in my hands before it travels all around me, igniting my veins. My heart pounds hard as I think of what would happen next: The cries of surprise, the scared looks, and finally screams of joy coming from the crowds as they wheel in what I want. But, like most mornings, I only have enough energy hold my plate up. So here I lay, dreaming of what I could not have.

"What I waste," I say as I turn over. I feel numerous lumps in my bed. They bump up against my body; while some are little dips that cause my legs to rest slightly lower then the rest of me. Sensing I might never sleep, I throw the blankets off me feeling the rush of cold that splashes over me. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the floor, letting my bangs fall over my face. The floorboards are carpeted with some thin gray mesh that looks cheap, and probably is. It is covered with many spots and spills of when past drunks have physically commented on their stay here.

"Don't they ever clean in here?" I silently ask myself. Feeling digested by the dirty sight I raise my poor body off the bed and decided to walk around. As I stroll the bare halls I began to feel something, and I have no idea what it is. It starts as a rumble in the base of my stomach, and then it slowly grows. The feeling travels around me and soon I am grabbed by a huge tentacle-sucking octopus of emotion, its arms clasped on mine

Strangely I can still walk, so I try to make way for the nurse's station before something stops me. My breath leaves me; practically usher's itself out of my body when I see it.

The Sky.

The deep blue star-studded sky that's peering in through the activity room windows. It spreads around like the ocean and the gripping feeling from before settles itself in my stomach, right at the bottom.

"Oh…" I half cry as I place a hand on the window. It's cold. My belly rumbles again and soon an unidentified yet familiar sensation overtakes me. It starts at the base of my belly and then gently moves to my empty abdomen. I'm confused at how recognizable the sensation is.

Suddenly, I see an image of the Sunset Arms roof. Arnold and I are standing on it, looking at a night sky just like the one before me. He's still in his suit from work while I am in a flowing pink dress. His smile catches my eyes and I can feel billions of butterflies swarming inside me.

"So tell me," Arnold breathes down my neck that is begging for his kisses, "Why did my sweet and sexy wife demand that we eat out here tonight?" I blush as the words come to my mouth, tingling my lips. They bubble behind my teeth, fighting to get out.

"Well," I start, "I…we're…we are…um…" I blush again, feeling nervous. The tension of my news builds inside and I panic that I won't be able to get it out. My breathing shortens while my stomach is on the verge of somersaulting. I quickly grab hold of Arnold's arms, steadying my trembling body.

"I think…No! I know that…" Arnold takes me to the linen covered table and sits me down on one of the padded chairs next to it.

"Just relax ok, here." My husbands hands me some water and directs me to sip. "Easy…easy…" he coaches, "Don't drink it all at once." I put the glass down and look up at my gorgeous man, the moon lighting his blonde hair. I love the way it's mostly slicked back with a few light tendrils falling forward to frame his emerald green eyes. My stomach calms a little as I gaze at him, giving me the sign that no matter how scary the news might be, Arnold's love will make it the most amazing news since our wedding.

"I want to do this right," I start again, "So just…give me a minute." I finish off the water as Arnold moves his seat next to me. Plopping down, he then takes his hands and gently smoothes them along my arms while softly pecking my neck. Smiling heavily I say, "Arnold! I'm-"

"Couldn't sleep either ay?" a vice says, pushing me out of my memory. I don't know who is speaking, but I already hate them.

"I find that tea helps sometimes. But it seems we're all out of tea. Guess I should settle for milk then. Want some? There's plenty." The huge figure moves out of the shadows and into the moonlight. It's Miss Fatty Cat. I groan.

"Unless that milk contains caffeinated coffee and scotch I don't want it!" I get up off my chair and attempt to storm out before Fatty Cats words paralyze me.

"Really? You're still going on about coffee? How pathetic." I turn to glare at her.

"Oh what do you know fatso?"

"I know that as long as you stay mad you'll never get out of here."

"Who says I'm mad!" I bark.

"Your tone does. Though, by the look of your red rimmed eyes I'm sensing that you weren't so mad a moment ago, weren't you?" I put my hand on my face and realize that she was right. I had been crying.

"So?" I choke out, trying to contain myself. She smiles and sips her teacup of milk while looking at me, her face explaining how disappointing she finds me, though I don't see why. What did I ever do to her? I try to pick up my feet to go but can't. My body intent on hearing what she has to say.

"Sad, just so sad. I see a lot of hard cases come through here, but there some that are quite harder then the rest. They seem hell bound to believe that their sadness is worse then everyone else's. Like they are the victims of life. Those are the ones that will keep coming back, and not…working it." She looked at me, her eyes finishing her thought.

"You can't just say that. You don't know me!" I stutter.

"Don't I? It's been almost two weeks and you've done nothing but sulk around, complaining. You go to group therapy and stay silent. And if you DO deign to grace us with your words they are mean, degrading and don't contribute to the healing aspects at all. You're just binding time until you can go home where, I am sure you'll only drink yourself back here. Face it, Hell-girl YOU'RE a drunk, and if you don't work on stopping that, you'll ALWAYS BE a drunk."

"Don't SAY THAT!" I wanted to shout, but don't. Instead, I just stare at her, wide-eyed. She seems so nice in-group, and now she is tearing me apart.

"But Arnold…He…" I sob some, hating myself for it. What is it about this woman that makes me want to cry every time she speaks to me? "He…dumped me here! If he really loved he could have let me stay." I finally get out after moments of choking on my words.

"If you really believe that, then you truly are pathetic." She got up and finished the last of her milk and then leaves me, someone who is yet again frozen in another sobbing episode.

The words "I want to do this right," whisper them selves in my mind's ear and I can't but hate myself for saying them.

I am sitting in my office with the blinds closed. There are piles of books surrounding me with my notebook sitting in the middle. I tare through the pages, flipping them, pushing them, and passing the ones that can't seem to shed light on my latest patient. The wind blows through the one open window on my right and I curse as I get up to close it.

"God damn it!" I shout, violently shoving the pane. I quickly let down the blind as well, so I don't have to glance at the at the more then beautiful Hillwood night skyline. It pains my heart every time I see it, pulling at my tear ducts. I sigh harshly, dying to get back to work.

"Lets see…No…." I close off Freud's _Interpretation of Dreams_ and throw it to the side before digging into Jung's _The Red Book._ Finding nothing in that, I cast it away and stand up to find more apt reading. But when I make way to my shelves I see that nothing is in its place.

"What happened in here?" I scream. I start throwing books to the floor one by one, finding it impossible that they are so out of place. My heart races with rage as they plunk to the oriental carpeted ground.

"Julie!" I screech, "Get in here!" Before I have the chance to scream again, my brown haired mouse of a secretary bursts through my door. I look at her timid eyes, hoping my expression is all she needs to know how mad I am.

"W-what is it Arno..Arnold," She stutters to me.

"Can't you see this mess!" I demand, "Just look at it! The books are all out of order and it's taking me years to find the one I want. Did you do this?" Julie backs away from me some, rubbing her shaking hand on her left arm. I can see her trying to think, and it's taking up too much of my time.

"You said-said yest-yesterday that you w-w-wanted to make a n-n-new system. I-I-I didn't t-touch them." Her head shoots forward as she gets out the last word. I glare at her. She swiftly and fearfully shakes her head no. "Is that-that all you w-wanted?" she softly asks me. I think a moment. Seeing nothing else, I sigh,

"Yes, you can go."

"Thank you!" she ejaculates before nervously running for the door. I sigh again, fiddling with my fountain pen. Then, sensing the great mess I have created I start to gather huge stacks of books and try to remember what sorting system I was converting to.

"Um…Ar-Arnold. Y-y-your 8 o'clock is here…" Julie says in the intercom. Growling, I throw down the first book stack and go to answer her.

"NOW? Why did you schedule me something now! I have loads of work to do!" I yell. I can hear my secretary shaking slightly, but I'm too mad to care.

"Y-y-you said that-that n-n-now is w-when you w-want to s-s-s-see the pa-parents." I close my eyes and try not bark back at her, though I would have been glad to.

"Fine…send them in." I plunk myself in my large leather chair and hope this won't take long.

Almost instantly, a couple in their mid forties enter. Looking them over I can see that they are like most of my clients, full of money and empty of care. They dump their kids on my chair and hope that I can provide them with the love and kindness they should have gotten at home. I almost yelled at them to leave, but seeing the worried look on the mother's face I can tell that's not an option.

"Hello, sorry for the mess," I greet, "Too many books, not enough space. Please, take a seat." They walk forward, nearly tripping on the books. The woman pauses a moment and takes off her Manolos to carry them on her way to my desk. She then sets them down next to her and sits.

"Do you have it Barry?" she asks her husband anxiously. He looks at her, taking out his silk handkerchief and blowing his proud white schnoz on it.

"Do I have what?"

"The thing, show him the thing…" she spurts out. He rolls his eyes, taking out a folded up magazine out of his Armani suit pocket. As instructed by his buzzing wife Barry carelessly tosses the contraband magazine on my desk. The title reads "Jugs."

"Honestly, I don't see why we are wasting our time on this Emily. We're supposed to find out how the boy is doing, not about that…Um…publication."

Emily scoffs, dismissing her husband with her jeweled hands.

"Look, I'll just cut to the chase. I was-well the maid was cleaning our son's room when she found…that! Now I am ok with knowing periodicals of this nature exists and I am fine when the normal riff-raff want to read it, but…oh god." Her hands fly around her as she speaks before buzzing into her purse to get a pack of smokes. She takes out cig with her mouth and tries to it light up fruitlessly.

"Let me," her husband offers, "We'll be here all night otherwise." He takes out a gold Zippo with a huge B on it and daftly lights his wife's cancer stick. The smell hits me like a punch in the face, reminding me of someone I had spent all day trying to forget. But now, here I am being forced to remember her, and the day she chose to inhale and imbibe instead of exhale and talk.

"GET OUT!" I scream, standing. The couple looks at me, shocked. "You heard me. Get out of my FUCKING office!" I rip cigarette out of the woman's waspy lips and break it in two.

"You have no right to touch my wife that way!" Barry yells.

"And you have no right to smoke in here as the huge sign on the wall tells you, or were your noses to high in the air to see it?"

"THAT'S IT! WE'RE LEAVING!" Barry screams, and soon they are gone, leaving me to deal with my elevated heartbeat and reddened face. I try to calm myself down, but nothing works, the left over smell of the horrid cigarette still in the air.

"God Dammit! WHY is nothing organized in here!" I screech before Julie enters slowly, coyly walking to my desk.

"Um…s-s-sorry to ba-bother but Gar-gar-"

"Oh just say it already!"

"New Years! Are-are you do-doing new years wa-with them." I roll my eyes as I try to breathe out my annoyance, finding it hard.

"Tell them yes," I say behind my gritted teeth. Julie takes my response and scurries off, happy to be away from the monster beside her.


	4. Chapter 4

The whole city flashed with light. Thunder cracked viciously through the darkened clouds that downed the buildings below. My heart drummed fast I watched the ant sized cars scramble across the roads, furthering my worry. I took my chair and pushed it to the large widow of the activity room and hoped that I could at least get a view of her entering the building.

"Please get here, please…" I croaked, sipping my still deactivated coffee. Even though I desperately wanted regular I was getting used to not having it. My hands even shook a little less, though they did shake. Rocking forward a little, I could feel a big beefy hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, what do you want!" I spat out anxiously, shrugging my shoulder free.

"Ok, I can see you're still mad," Miss Fatty Cat says, "I don't blame you." She took a seat from behind her and dragged it next to me. I groaned, finding her to be closer then I wanted. But with a figure like hers it's hard to not be. She tried to place another sausage stuffed arm on me before I shudder it away.

"Listen…I wanted to apologize. Even though it's my job to help you, I don't think I should have been that mean about it. We are just supposed to provide the tools and let you build when you want to."

"Gees, lady what are you talking about?" I whimper, looking intently at the wet concrete near the front door. My heart sank a little when I saw the only dark haired woman turn her head. It wasn't her.

"Ok, so apparently I'm going fuck this up too," she sighed heavily, formulating her next words carefully, "See...I…had been in the exact same place you are now." My ears perked up at that. If I were a dog, I'm sure they would have pointed her way.

"I had a husband, a daughter, and a really great life. Now, I am not going to sit here and rehash my sob story to you. I think we can fill in the blanks there. I just wanted to say that…when I saw you it was like seeing myself. I just thought that if I could somehow wake you up to your hell and fix you maybe…it'd be like fixing myself before it was too late."

"Oh…"

"Yea…and…I can tell that didn't work at all." A woman of hedge height walks by and I jump out of my chair, plastering myself on the glass. By the look of her hair and what seem to be glasses I know it's her. She turns her head both ways before entering the building.

"Thank god she's here!" I say, too relieved for words. I rush out of my seat, aching to hug my best friend. Pat tries to ask me something, but I'm already in the hall waiting for Phoebe so I can't hear her. But as I stand there I start to panic that I had been mistaken. What if that was not Phebs? What if it was some other girl who just looked like Phebs? Had I been wrong? Oh god, what if she's not coming? What if some truck crushed her car on the way over? What if…she didn't want to come? After what I did to her, I almost would not blame Phebs. All she wanted to do was help me, and I just treated her like trash.

I almost sob in great pain before I hear my best friend.

"You stupid swine, let me through!" I hear Phoebe scream in Japanese. Walking forward some, I can see her yelling at the rehab wing's young and thinly built desk nurse. Pat scurries behind me, passing me on my left.

"She can be let in!" she says, "I know it's after hours, but I'm allowing it." The male nurse frowns, and then puts his hands on his hips.

"Trying to get into Hell-girls good graces I see. Push OVER!" he gaily waves Phoebe through and I cannot help but burst toward her. Sobbing, I crush my best friend with a bear hug. Phoebe hugs back with the same amount of force, a little shocked.

"Oh my, Helga you're shaking!" She tries to break away, but I can't let her, my crying becoming uncontrollable.

"He didn't come! He hates me! He's going to leave me!" I sob, failing to calm myself down. The simple touch of my oldest friend makes me blubber more words, more thoughts, and get in touch with of more feelings then I have in nearly a month. After a long moment passes Phoebe finally frees herself and looks me over, her eyes showing how worried she really is.

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head, "Why are you so panicked? Did Arnold say something?"

"That's just it Phebs," I blubber again, "He has not talked to me at all! He said when he dumped me here that he'd visit and…and…" I brake into sobs again, almost falling over. Phoebe gently takes my arm and leads me to nearest table.

We sit, my hands tethered to hers. I try to speak but all that comes out are garbled sounds stuffed in tears. Phoebe's face grows more confused then worried as she tries to make sense of the whole scene. But instead of asking questions, she just holds my hand while I continue the waterfall from my eyes.

"It's ok Helga," she tells me, "Just let it out." With that, I cry even harder before settling into quietness. I look around for some tissues to dry my eyes when I notice that Phebs already has a pack of them in her hand. She hands me one, and I take it, breathing deeply while sniffling

"So what happened exactly? Did Arnold really say he'd leave you?" she asks, her eyes a mixture of confusion and concern. I breath deep again, hoping I can explain without loosing it.

"No but…Oh that stupid-stupid woman!"

"Who?"

"That stupid fat cat of a councilor!" I curse, realizing something. Pat never said Arnold would leave me, but her words implied it so much that I just assumed. "See…" I start, "This woman…the one that let you in…she…said some things. Awful-awful things." I sniffled some more as I told her about the other night, taking more tissues. I made sure to include every detail so Phoebe could see just how scared the woman made me.

"And when I tried to call Arnold, I couldn't get him so…I just thought that…maybe…he's had enough of me."

"Don't say that. Yes, it's terrible that he hasn't called, or came to visit but maybe he just needs some time."

"Yea, time to find the right divorce lawyer."

"Helga No!" She squeezed my hand, looking at me with deep anxiety. I could tell by her perplexed face that she was about to say something hurtful. Her mouth pursed and her head lowered a little as she prepared to talk. My heart beat faster as I waited, every second killing me.

"Look…I have to say something. If I don't say it now, then I never will." I look the other way, not wanting to see her lips form the harsh words she is bound to say. I can't blame her. After what I did to her…after what I did to Arnold. I wipe away a slow stream of tears that is strolling down my damp cheeks.

"You really scared me Helga. I didn't know what to do. The look in your eyes, the way you seemed to hate everyone around you. I…I could not believe that was you. That was not the Helga G. Shortmen I grew up with. That was not my best friend!" I wept a little as she talked, hating the scene that landed me here. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to recall how I trashed the one and only friendship I had outside my husband…if I still had a husband. My chest hurt, building up with tension as she continued.

"I have to admit I was mad, and scared. I didn't know if I could continue being your friend. I didn't know if I could handle all that stress. What if you did that again? What if it is more then just snow you push me into next time? A lot was going through my head. I almost vowed to never see you again. But then…I looked back on our friendship and realized there was a lot. I mean, I was there through the 'ice cream' years. I was your maid of honor, and I even helped deliver little Phil," her voice got softer, yet somewhat happier in tone.

"I also realized that you were there for me too. Not just as my maid of honor, or at my graduation of med school…but through a lot of big moments in my life. That's when I saw that we had too much history to give all that up. I know now that you would not have hurt me intentionally, not unless you were going through something more hurtful then I could ever imagine." I sniffled, trying not to cry harder then I already was.

"If I know Arnold, and I think I do, he's going through the same thing as I did. He needs time to look at your side of things and realize that you never meant to harm anyone. You never meant to do anything. He loves you Helga, and I know that when he's ready, he'll come. He has to."

I wiped my tears away as I look at my best friend, rendered speechless by her words.

ARNOLD

I walk in feeling tired and ready to do nothing but sleep the night away. Sighing, I loosen up my tie and head for the percolator. I tap my shoes in wait for the old thing to be done. It takes forever.

"What's the plan Tex?" my grandmother says as she walks in. By the way she's holding my son, I can tell she's ready to hand him off to me. I gulp down the bulk of my coffee and walk to take him, son in one hand, and his bottle in the other. His eyes light up as he sees me, almost too happy to feed. But he does, always looking at his father.

"Going to the saloon for a few colds ones to ring in another year?"

"Yea, kinda stupid but Gerald and Phoebe claim they have not seen for me weeks so…what can I do?"

"Well, you have been working late." I scoff, not wanting to talk about THAT

"Look, I WORK because I HAVE TO! Someone's got to make money around here since…" I close my eyes, feeling agitated. I don't want to fight again, but grandma won't listen. Growling harshly, I try my best not to burst into fits of yelling. I clamp my hand around my son's bottle, not realizing that the same pressure is being applied to his body. He pushes the plastic nipple out of his hands and explodes into scared cries.

"Oh crap, now look what you made me do!" I take the bottle away and try to smooth out the boy's trembling body. Within moments little Phil is calm again, looking at his dad.

"What I did? Thems fighting word's Tex." I roll my eyes and leave the room, wanting to get away from to perpetual rodeo I seem to be living in. I walk up the stairs and try to get into my room before I realize that I can't with my hands full. I think of the many ways I could hold both my son and bottle in one hand when Grandpa walks by. He lets down the latter before I can ask.

"I was going to get that!" I bark.

"Oh, sorry there Shortman. Just thought you could use a little help."

"Well, I didn't!" I bark again,

"Ok, Ok…" Grandpa says as he backs way. He puts his hands up in some sort of defense, not sure what I'll do next. I involuntarily growl again in short scoffs as I ascend the latter.

"Sure you don't need help there? I could grab kiddo from ya?"

"I've got it! Now leave me alone!" I say, gingerly placing my son on floor of my room. I enter shortly after and quickly pick up Phil and place him in his crib. Looking at my watch I see that it's almost eight. My stomach rumbles in hunger, but I don't want to go back down. I'm not in the mood for more of Grandma's cowboy references. Besides, I don't have to pick up Gar and Phebs until nine, so I have plenty of time to eat if I want.

br "You have three messages," my answering machine robotically calls out when press the orange button. I hear the click of the tape starting as I sit in front of the computer to check e-mail. br

"Hey Man, me and Phoebe can't wait to see you at nine. Gonna be blast. I think a lot of people will be there. Maybe this year we can see Harold actually get through two beers without puking. Who knew the human pig couldn't drink? Ha!" I press delete.

"H-Hey Ar-Arnold. The-The…P-Petersons want to s-see you at eleven. Y-you left be-be-before I c-could te-tell you!" I press delete and make a metal note to check with her later. The machine clicks to the last message as I see an empty gmail, save for a few Psychology Today newsletters. I glance through them to see if anything catches my interest when I hear a familiar voice.

"Arnold? Are you there?" She cries softly, her voice shaking, "I've been calling all day and you're never home. Why won't you talk to me? You said you'd-" Heart racing and blood boiling, I rip the answering machine from its outlet and smash it against the wall when I realize who it is. I take the parts that fly at me and stomp on them, not caring that my angry ruckus is making my son cry. I scream at the tiny pieces that land on the floor, ingraining them into the carpet with my foot.

I want her gone; I want her out of my mind, I want to go one fucking second without being reminded of her. But most of all, I want to stop loving Helga. For every time I am reminded of her, I can't help but feel sad. I can't help but wonder what would make such a brilliantly beautiful woman drink.

"How can she do this?" I sob at the floor, "How can do this to our family?" My breath rushes to catch itself as I slide down the wall. Little Phil is still wailing, but I'm too rapt up in my own sadness to care. So here I sit, arms resting on bent knees and crying.

"What in the blue blazes is going on in here!" My grandfather says, rushing in. He quickly takes stock of the scene, eyes going wide when sees my scared son and the shattered plastic all over the floor.

"Arnold are you ok?" He asks horridly. He bends down to help lift me up.

"I'm fine!" I say, shaking his hand free with my wrist as I stand. "I've gotta go. They're waiting for me."

"But Arnold look at this!"

"I'll be home after 12. I will see you then!" I bark, tarring off my tie. I let it fall on the mess as I walk out, the door slamming behind me. I don't care. I just stampede down the stairs and clamor through the rest if the house before slamming my way out to the car.

"Fucking people," I grunt, fishing for my keys. I get them out, hearing them clank and clatter against themselves. The sound brings to mind the clash of cop cuffs, though I don't know why.

Rain beats down on the windshield as I drive. I watch as the old wipers clean away the splatters of water that bomb my car. I sigh, wishing in that one solid moment that I had something similar for my heart. A machine designed to swipe your ticker clean of any emotion you didn't want winding it. My teeth grind some as I drive on, trying my best to fight the rain.

"Oh man!" Gerald says as he opens the door in his classic number 33 shirt. His breath stinks of booze. "You look like a drowned lap rat! HA!" He wobbly opens the door and I can see a few empty cans on the coffee table in their living room. The lights blare around me, giving me a slight headache.

"Sorry," Phoebe grins, "We were pre-gaming a little and I guess Gerald took to the sport more then expected. Come on in, dry off." I take off my wet coat just when I notice how hot it's making me, shaking my hair dry as I do.

"I am so glad you took the night off to come. It's been ages since we've seen you!" Phebs says, handing me a Blue Moon. I sip slowly, letting the smooth beer rush down my throat. It cools everything inside me, and I can almost feel a chill coming on.

"So why did you come all dolled up man!" Ger says, wobbling my way. I take another sip.

"Please tell me you didn't come form work. I mean, I'm glad we finally got you away from that desk, but you have got spend some time at home once in a while!" Groaning, I plop on their comfy couch and down the beer, letting the slight fog of the night wash over me. br

"Ok!" I shout, slamming the empty bottle on table, "Who's ready to go? I know I am!"

"Yea!" Gerald screams, "Party all the time! Party all the time!" He dances his way out of their living room and out the door, too drunk to bother with his coat. Phoebe rolls her eyes happily and grabs both hers and his on the way out. I follow suit, dying to get this night over with.

"Hey, are you ok?" Phoebe asks, pausing me by the arm. She pulls me back into their place some before I can get outside in the cold rain. "You don't look so good," she adds, her smile fading as she eyes me over. I hate the way her almond slits inspect me, no doubt thinking how sad I must look.

"Can we just go already!" I say as I forcefully pull my arm from her concerned grip.

"But Arnold…"

"What?" I shrug my shoulders angrily, too eager to have this stupid ritual done with. I was not the one who begged to go out. I was not the one called several times a week to make sure I'd come. I was also not the one who kept parading me with questions on how a certain someone is doing in a certain place I'd rather not think about. If it were up to me, I'd be home right now. I'd be in bed, sleeping this all off.

Suddenly, I see Helga. She is under the covers. I am standing over her tired body, her tossed hair peaking out of the top of our blanket. My heart twinges at the sight of her, the way she hides herself under the soft comforter, the way she chooses to ignore what's going on around her, and the way her eyes look so vacant and empty when I violently shake the sheets off her. I scream at her to get up, but she refuses. If only I had known this would be the least of our problems. Maybe then I could have left her before it was too late.

"Arnold?" Phoebe's voice snaps me out of my thought. I look at her.

"Lets go." I say, walking to my car.

"And the Rat returns!" Gerald laughs when my hair gets wet again. "So how's Brain? Is he really that smart?" I growl under my breath and get in the car, trying not to get mad at my best friends jokes. He's just having fun, like I'm supposed to be.

I grind my teeth as I drive, fighting the water that's combating my car. Phoebe and Gerald are in back, laughing. Though by the look of it, Ger is much more light hearted then his wife who's staring at me. Her eyes watch me like a hawk and I almost turn to scream at her. But I don't. Instead, I pin my eyes to the road, focusing on the bar just up ahead. br

"Party!" Gerald screams again, before dropping more insipid references to lab mice. My body builds with rage as he does, my knuckles going white. Phoebe snuggles close to her hubby, smiling. br

"Hun, maybe you should cool it with the mice stuff ok?" she says, trying to sound pleasing. Gerald laughs. br

"Oh, come on, I'm just playing! It's New Years!"

"I know," she grins, "But maybe it's not a good idea, right now," She lifts her brow in my direction and makes a face that references something between them. I don't know what it is, but by her worried glance I assume it's about me.

"Hay, at least I'm not talking about that movie he now hates."

"GERALD!" Phoebe scolds, glaring at him. I turn off the engine as we reach the bar and sigh deeply, trying so hard not screech at the pair behind me. br

"Why does he hate that movie anyway? I mean, I don't get-"

"GERALD! STOP!"

"Wait…now I remember…that song! The French one! I complete forgot about it! Don't they play it like, all the time in that thing? My god, and what does it mean anyway?" My blood boils with each word, but I don't want that to control me. So I get out and wait in the monsoon, hoping the constant crash of water will cool me off.

"And why-and why do those guys use that song anyway? I mean, it's so soft. How can anyone wake up to that!" Gerald says, getting out of the car. I can see Phoebe trying to shush her husband, but it's not working. He continues to slur on about his confusion, coming up with many reasons why Inception can't possibly make any sense.

br "And I gotta know Arnold," he says, "I just gotta know, what is it with that song and you?" I don't answer him. I walk, not talking. We get inside and the place is swimming with people. Music from the huge speakers near the front window shakes my ears and I am more then thankful to hear something other then my best friend, or that song that won't stop playing in my head. Lights flash around us, making everyone glow a different color. Getting to the bar I say,

"Give me the strongest thing you've got!" The muscles toned bartender hears me despite the crowds and noise and quickly goes to work. His hands move fast, throwing in shots of every bottle they have in the place.

"That would be this, an Inception." He grins as he serves it to me.

"A what?" I ask, angrily confused. I jump back from the drink, not wanting to take in anything associated with that stupid movie.

"After one of these babies you'll have no idea if you're dreaming or awake!" He laughs at me, rightly sensing that something big is about to happen if I sip it. Breath short and heart drumming, I want to topple the drink over so he'll have to make me something else. And yet, staring at the light blue concoction before me, I get the sense that the only way to overcome what I'm feeling is to just drink it.

I take the glass and down it, using my nose to breathe before reason makes me stop. It tastes like burning salt water mixed with something topical, causing me to finish it fast.

"Sweet dreams buddy!" The body builder bartender says when I slam the glass on the bar. I turn my head and look for Phoebe and Gerald, not realizing that they where next to me the whole time. Ger grins at me, putting his thumb up for our special shake. I try to match my hand with his, but find it hard. My mind fogs up and soon the glowing lights blend in with the surroundings and I can't tell them apart. A murky haze sets in, and suddenly the whole bar looks like it's under water. Over in the right hand corner I can see something…

"Yo man…look at Pinky over here!" I grab the bar to steady my shaky body as I try to make out the odd shapes through the cloudy water around me. Squinting, it looks like a mermaid with light green fins and Helga's head. Her sparkling blonde hair floats around her, framing her sweet red-lipped face.

"GO AWAY!" I shout, "I don't want to talk to you!" Phoebe looks confused but is too afraid to ask what I mean. I keep looking at Helga's angelic visage when I see piano keys fly around her. Then, just as suddenly, electric blue crinkled lines bounce and waft around my mermaid mistress. They move in beat with the music, the bigger noises creating sharp bends and crimps in them.

"Why do you keep haunting me!" I cry, "WHY!" Gerald takes my arm, giggling.

"Ay man, calm down."

"She won't leave me alone!"

"Who!"

"Who do you think!" I say, before diving into the school of people. I don't realize it, but I am punching and shoving my way to speakers, knocking people down as I go.

"Ok fine, if you want to talk, I'LL TALK!" I scream, moving to the tallest speaker. The music is almost too loud to bear, but I don't care. I just dig my hands into the mesh of thumbing box in front me, following the scattering electric blue lines that now creep upward. Helga looks at me, smiling, taunting me with her perfect breasts and alluring mermaid tail. I stretch my hands to grab her, but she keeps swimming out of my reach.

"HAY! GET BACK HERE!" I am on top of the speakers now, jumping up in attempt to get what's impossible. My body becomes wobbly when I land, my foot losing ground. Bubbles pop around me. I fall back, the French song bursting through my subconscious as I sink to the lowest level I ever have.

"Well you sure know how to ring in the New Year," Phoebe says. I raise my head from the concrete floor I slept on, seeing my friends hands clasped around metal bars. My head is pounding, the light making each throb feel like knife stabs to the face. I close my eyes and try to lift my aching body as my bones cry out in pain from the position I slept in. When I can finally stand firmly without tilting, I take stock of the room. A bench runs along the cinder block colored walls. Besides that, there is not much else. I turn and see the bars and Phoebe. She looks sad.

"So, should I ask how I got in here, or do I even want to know?" I say, lowering my head.

"It was not pretty. You started screaming, and then…for some reason I can't figure, you punched your way through the crowed, got top of the speakers, and starting yelling out Helga's name. This was, of course, before you fell flat on your back like a pancake. I tried to get you up, but you were so far gone by that point that not only were you heavy as hell, you started mumbling something about piano keys and mermaids. It took three bouncers, and the bartender to get you up. They called the cops, and here you are."

"So…was I…arrested?" I ask, fearing the answer. br

"Not exactly. I was scared you'd get charged with something, but the cop who came seemed to remember you."

"Me?" br

"I thought it had to be through a patient, but this guy says he wrote you a ticket not too long ago."

"Oh…" I sigh, remembering the donut-ridden stench of the pig that would not shut up about his cell phone.

"Anyway, he seemed to think a night in the drunk take would be better then jail. He also said that when you're ready you could check out with him and go. I have your car, so I can take you home and have Gerald get me later. I took him home before following the cop here."

"Ok." I gulped.

"I'll get him," she smiles faintly before walking off to summon my doom, her face still holding a touch of concern. I didn't want to see that guy again, but I had no other choice. My actions were my actions and I have to acknowledge them. Sighing, I start to piece together the events and soon the whole nights streams in my mind like a movie.

I can see myself drinking, yelling, and climbing like an idiot on top of the speakers. My hands reach out to get something that's not there. My body shutters and flashes with pain when I recall the fall. The rest is just a blur.

"So we meet again, Mr. Shortman," The cop says as he walks to my cell. Phoebe is standing behind him, still looking off. "Boy," he continues sternly, "I told you to relax. Not go crazy!" As he takes his keys out the smell of fresh baked goods and coffee waft my way, my stomach rumbling. He puts the right one the whole, and then stops.

"Now, I want you to understand something. I'm letting you out. But before I do, I want you to promise me that we won't ever meet again. Do you understand me son?" He looks at me hard, his Frankenstein brow forming a stiff line on his face.

"Yes Officer, I do. You have no idea how much I do." I almost cry when the words croak out my throat. He turns the keys and the bars slowly clank to the left of me. I walk out, aching to get a good meal and some sleep. After signing a small form, Phoebe and I walk out to my car that is luckily close by. I get in shotgun, while she gets in the drivers seat. She turns on the ageing thing and tries for the heat.

"Don't bother, the things been broken for years," I say. Phebs takes my advice and turns it off, and the car.

"Listen," she says, turning to me, "I have to know what's going on with you. I cannot, NO, I will not stand to have both my best friends end up like this. I will not allow it! So talk." Her eyes dip down, forming a harsh look.

"I have no excuse for what I did. I should know better. I do know better. But last night…." I sigh, closing my eyes from the cruel sun that's peeking in. I let down the visor so my head won't hurt. "So much was hitting me at once: Gerald's teasing, the mention of the song…and Helga. When I got home last night I got this message from her. She sounded so…childish. Like a five-year-old who wants to be free from their 'time-out.' I guess I could not take it from her. Her mother can be like that all she wants. But not Helga. Not MY Helga. She should be able to see that drinking is not the answer. God, hasn't her mother taught her that?" I feel myself getting enraged again, but I breathe deep and calm down slowly, letting time pass so I can be cool. br

"I can't take this anymore. I want my wife back!"

"Then go get her."

"I can't!"

"Why? What's stopping you?"

"Everything!"

"Really? Everything?" Phoebe crosses her arms under her bust and gives me her famous death stare. It amazes me to see how this sweet friend of mine can muster up this much anger at a moments notice. For a quick second I wonder what Gerald does when he's on the receiving end of this.

"Look I just…I can't! I won't…I…" I try to come up with the right words to describe how I feel, but Phoebe's laser-like focus makes it hard. That, and the fact that my stomach is about to summersault out everything I ate since birth. Phoebe looks at me, her glare smoothing away. She lowers her head again and cups her hands over mine as she prepares to say something truly deep.

"Arnold, I know that writing her off seems best right now. Believe me, I was just as ready as you to do it. But when I saw her yest-"

"YOU SAW HER!" I screech. "You actually went to that woman and SPOKE to her!" I don't why that fact made me mad, but it did, blood practically evaporating from my veins. "I cannot believe this!" I take my hands away and prepare to leap from my car, stomach begging to evacuate. But before I can move I feel my friend's tight grip on my wrists.

"YOU are not leaving until I say what I want to say!" her hands clamp off all circulation, her eyes shooting fire daggers.

"I really thought you where better then this Arnold. I really did. Yes, Helga messed up, Yes, she hurt me, and YES, I did see her. And do you know why? Do you know why I would drive in the pouring rain on New Years Eve to see my best friend?" She bends her head down on me, my body ready to liquefy into a puddle of nothing.

"Because I know she's sorry. Because I know!" she starts to sob violently while my stomach bubbles up with vomit "That she would not hurt me unless she was in major pain." Phoebe takes a moment to weep a little, fingers digging into me.

"She thinks you don't love her! She thinks your going to leave her! You have to go see Helga, Arnold. You have to see my best friend and YOUR WIFE!" She quickly lets go of my hands and I turn my head away from her fast, puking fiercely out the window. The mess lands on the hard blacktop, splattering everywhere.

"Ok," I say softly between purges. "I'll go." And then I cling on to the car door for dear life as my body rids itself of last year.


	5. Chapter 5

HELGA

I'm sitting in the group therapy room. My chest tightens as my hands tingle with tension. Everyone is staring at me and I'm staring right back. I should be scared to talk; yet my confession rolls out smoothly with only a few stumbles in my

"I knew what my mother was. I knew what she did at night, what she did all day, and what she really meant when she said 'smoothie.' It obvious to everyone, except my dad." I paused, letting myself cool down. I was not here to bash my family, no matter how good it felt.

"I always promised myself that I would not end up like her. I always made sure that what I did in life was different from her. And now…" I sniffled some, taking out an overused hanky to wipe away my mounting tears. My face reddened, lips crimping and twisting. "Stop Whining!" my inner voice screamed, "You're such a pussy!" But then a louder voice, one that reverberated from every bone I had shouted, "Don't be so hard on yourself! You need this!" This inner battle was much easier to fight with Arnold by my side.

"All right," Pat said, putting a thick hand on me, "I think that's it for today. See you tomorrow at nine sharp! And remember!" Everyone stood, stapling hands to one another, "Work it because you're worth it!" I sighed deeply and lowered my head as the group spoke it, letting the small syllables tumble over me with relief. But when the group starts to break apart, I felt this slight emptiness burro inside me. All I wanted was my son. I could feel the weight of him on my arms as I pressed them to my body.

"It's hard isn't it?" Pat says as she hands me some coffee.

"You have no idea. I mean, I know you do, but…wow…you never truly know how much something means to you until it's taken away." She nods in agreement and puts her hand on my back to direct me the activity room. We sit by the huge windows, staring out at the frozen city below us.

"I have to say Helga, since your friend visited yesterday you seem much better, considering." I sniff and sip the coffee, smiling a small some.

"If you say so."

"Really," she continues, "I mean it! Most people don't make as dramatic a change as you have. And in one day, no less." I sigh, looking outside. Hillwood is still wet from the unseasonable rains, but by the way the cars inch along the roads it was easy to see that it had cooled off harshly. The trees near us have a thick casing of ice around them, the thin limbs looking like brown veins.

"I guess it helps to know I still have a best friend. She says I have to wait for Arnold to come around, and that's what I'm doing. It hurts, but…I'm not going to screw this up. I already hurt him so much." I take out the hanky again and start dabbing my eyes clean, not wanting to cry. But after a moment I realize that it's what I need to do. So I let it out, slowly and surely. Pat hugs me tightly, her meaty body encircling me.

"Thank you," I sigh, lingering in the hug. Suddenly, a harsh stench hits my face. I wrinkle my nose to try to get away from the fowl smell as I think of what it could be.

"What is that? Do you smell that?" I ask. Pat lets go of me and stands. Brushing off her clothes she says,

"Hello Sir, may I help you?" I could not believe whom I saw. His hair stuck up like stalks of wheat, face covered in red blotches, vomit stains, and visible dirt everywhere. His suit was crumpled with heavy spots, shirt way off white.

"Wha-what happened to you?" I try to ask, lips failing in total shock. Arnold sits across from me, head turned from my direction. As I hear him gather his breath in exasperated sighs I pray he'll look at me. He has to look at me. My husband has to look at me. In panic I try again to speak, my lips aching in effort to say his name. I can barely get passed the "Ar" before my sweet but shaken husband turns. Running his fingers through his stiffly stemmed hair Arnold says,

"I don't know how you do this everyday Helga. I had ONE strong drink and I'm about ready to die. My stomach hurts, my eye's can't stand ANY form of light, and no matter what I do, I can't get the horrid taste of puke out of my mouth! Not to mention that I feel like peeing every five minutes." He puts a hand on his belly to calm it, a gesture I know all too well. br

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" I say, eyes lowered in a mixture of sadness and concern.

"You don't even know the half of it!"

"I kinda think I do…" I put my hands on his, feeling terrible that my actions lead him to do this.

"Ya know…" he cries some, softly, "Phoebe told me you must have been really-really sad inside to drink this much. I didn't get it until now. It fucking HURTS to be alive." He clamped his eyes shut from the blinding florescent lights above us. They flickered a little as thunder and lighting exploded outside. Quiet settled in around us and I realize Pat must have left us alone. I can hear Arnold gulping.

"Helga," he started, tears streaking his red face, "I'm so sorry you felt the need to be this way. I'm so sorry you felt this depressed. When you first left…"

"You mean when you first dumped me here!" I blurt out harshly, suddenly aware that I was still a little mad.

"Ok, can you please not yell at me right now. I think you-of all people- can understand just how irritating sounds are at this PARTICULAR moment!" I lower my head again, apologizing softly.

"When you left…I didn't know what to do. I was so…lost. I tried really hard to forget you-to pack you away in some compartment of my brain. But the more I tried to erase you, the more you seemed to creep out of my subconscious. If I was not reliving happy memories in my dreams, then I was being reminded of you everywhere. In the starlit skies at night, in the Inception song we loved long before Christopher Nolen used it, and from the harsh drink I had last night. It's funny…when I asked for a strong swig I was giving something called an 'Inception.' At first I didn't want anything do with it. I wanted it go away, like you. But when the bartender told me how messed up it makes you, how it causes your world to mesh into that of a dream, I thought that drinking it would be the ONLY way to get rid of you. By drinking an inception I hoped to drink you…until there was nothing left." My Husband lowered his head, his face sinking in utter shame. I didn't know what to say.

Rain started up as we sat, thunder cracking every two seconds. Lighting followed and I felt sorry that his head would flash with pain while the city would be flashed in near daylight from the bolt.

"I can safely say I never want to feel this way again. I don't think my body can take it."

"You say that now. But wait until you're head deep into a depression that not even the most limber of people can get you out of."

"Helga, I was only depressed when I was without you!" He thrusts himself out of his chair comes to me, lifting me up. He presses me against his smelly body, but I don't care.

"As long as I have you in my life I know I will be happy." Arnold entangles my fingers with his, smiling through the pain. "What your going through is hard, but I think-together- we can beat this. I'm not going to leave you Helga Shortman! I'm not ever going to let you go." And then he kisses me, the clouds clearing as he presses his sweet but dirty lips on mine. His love embosses on my whole body as the kiss lingers, the stars slowly peaking through the sky. The moon bursts through shortly after and soon it looks like it had never rained at all. Arnold gingerly brakes away from me, still holding my hands.

"Would you look at the sky?" I say, suddenly awestruck at how calm the weather turned. My husbanded pressed his head next to mine as he glances outside. "I know," he sighs heavily, "It's just perfect."


End file.
